It's All Right, and It's Not OK
by rayrae118
Summary: "I don't like guns," he would say. But there was always a hard edge to his tone when he said it. Peter finally learns the story behind Neal's dislike of firearms. Warning: sexual abuse, but it doesn't go into huge detail.


**I was trying to get the inspiration back for my other White Collar fic, and this just sort of popped into my head. It's very AU, and has no basis in any episode. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: not mine**

"I don't like guns."

Peter furrowed his brow as he took in the conman – turned – informant. The FBI agent had heard that line before, and it always sent tendrils of worry to his gut, but this was the first time he had really stopped to think about it. There was something to Neal's tone – a hard edge, with a hint of fear and pain – that made him think there was more to the story.

The most recent reason for that innocuous statement was lying unconscious on the floor of the warehouse they currently inhabited. Their suspect had had a gun trained on Neal, until Peter had managed to take him out, and, looking at his informant more closely, the agent realized that the conman was more affected than he had previously thought.

"You OK?" he asked, kneeling down to slap handcuffs on the perp.

Neal didn't respond for almost a minute. Background noise infiltrated the quiet, and Peter realized their backup was probably on their way into the warehouse. He waited until Jones had taken the suspect outside – dragging him, since he was still mostly unconscious – before he went over to the former felon. Neal was still staring off into space, and Peter was starting to get slightly worried. He reached out tentatively to grasp the younger man's shoulder, and was taken aback by the sudden flinch. With a start, he realized that Neal was _trembling_.

"Neal?" he queried worriedly. A distant part of his brain registered Diana watching them curiously. She, too, seemed to notice something off about their favorite conman.

Neal shuddered slightly, and pulled himself back to the present. Suddenly, he realized that Peter was standing right there, way too close for comfort. He pulled back and took a deep breath, gathering all the little strands of memories that were leaking through the barrier that he had erected so many years ago, and made an effort to focus on the here and now. His eyes glazed over for a brief moment. "I really don't like guns," he commented quietly, before pulling away and exiting the warehouse.

Peter watched him leave, feeling helpless to do anything. There was something about the way Neal had left that worried him… well, if he was being honest with himself, it didn't just worry him, it downright scared him.

"Boss?"

Peter turned around and offered up a small smile for his favorite agent. Diana felt something stir in her gut as she took in the senior agent's expression. He looked worried, and that made her worried. "Is Neal all right?" she asked, following Peter's line of sight, to where the former felon had disappeared.

Peter looked over at his fellow agent and sighed. "I don't know," he answered honestly.

"What happened?"

Peter shook his head. "We separated to search the warehouse. Travis had a gun on him when I showed up. I don't know what happened before that, but he didn't seem hurt."

"Did he say anything?"

Peter bit his lip. "Just that he doesn't like guns. He's said it before, but this time I felt…" The FBI agent paused briefly, trying to put his thoughts into words. "It felt like there was more to it. There's a story there, and part of me hopes that I never have to hear it."

Diana furrowed her brow. "And the other part?"

Peter shrugged, lifting one hand to rub his face tiredly. "I think Neal needs to talk about it, whatever _it_ is. I'm scared, Diana."

That surprised the younger agent. "Why?" she asked, stepping closer to her boss and lowering her voice, on the off chance that any of the other agents milling about might hear them.

Peter winced helplessly. "Neal started out as just another criminal, someone I caught and locked up. When he made that deal, he became a consultant, and now? I wish he had made other choices, but at the same time, I'm kind of glad he made the ones he did, because this way, I got to meet him. Even with the anklet, I think we could really be friends. I like him," Peter admitted with a rueful smile. "He's smart, and thoughtful, and compassionate. He's generous, and kind, and witty. Even with the illegal activities, I can't help but like him." Here Peter smiled. "I don't know if he's just conning me, but I like to think that at least some of it is real."

"I think it is," Diana replied, her voice certain. At Peter's questioning look, she elaborated, "I've seen the way he acts around you. You're sort of like a big brother to him – all he wants is your approval. You've changed him for the better, Peter. You've made a difference in his life." Peter tried not to look too hopeful, and Diana smiled. "Go on, we'll finish up here."

Peter didn't need to be told twice, and with a nod of thanks, left the warehouse to find his partner.

**XXX**

Neal was at June's, half a bottle into a bottle of wine by the time Peter arrived. The door was slightly open, so the FBI agent simply walked in, making sure to make enough noise that the conman knew he was there.

The sound of the door shutting is what drew Neal's attention, and he turned slightly to face his partner. He offered up a small nod, which Peter took to be an invitation, and without saying anything, grabbed his own wine glass and helped himself.

He let out a small sigh of appreciation for the alcohol; it was much better than anything he or Elizabeth ever bought. But then, he was really more of a beer drinker. So was Elle, for that matter.

He noticed Neal's gaze still on him, and he smiled. "That's pretty good," he commented.

Neal smirked lightly, but there seemed to be something off about the expression, Peter noted. "I'm glad it's still here. Usually, Mozzie gets to it before I have a chance."

The two men sat in silence for a while, finishing off the bottle of wine. When they had nothing but empty glasses in front of him, Peter finally worked up the courage to speak. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but somehow, he felt that _not_ knowing was even worse. "Why don't you like guns?"

Neal froze. There really was no other word for it. His face turned to stone, and his hand clenched tightly. "Peter…" He stopped, unsure of what to say.

The FBI agent leaned forward slightly, focusing his gaze on his partner, his expression pleading. "Neal, whatever happened, I don't care. I just want to know. If there's any way I can help, I want to. We're friends, aren't we?"

That caused Neal to stop and think. Were they friends? He wasn't sure. They worked together, but Peter was the agent who had caught him, locked him up. Part of him felt like he could talk to the older man, as long as he didn't mention anything with a statute of limitations still attached… but what Peter was asking… he didn't know if he could share it. That black hole in his past had been locked up for so long, he didn't know if he could open up without coming completely apart at the seams.

He couldn't bring himself to actually look Peter in the eye, afraid of what he might see if he did. He was about to refuse, when the FBI agent uttered the one word that threatened to be his undoing.

"Please."

It was quiet, and pleading, and caused Neal's resolve to waiver. When he risked a glance at Peter, he found that he couldn't look away. There was a mix of emotions written clearly across his partner's face, ranging from earnest, to hopeful, to sincere. Suddenly, Neal found he didn't really _want_ to refuse. It all came down to trust. And he trusted Peter, more so than he probably would ever admit to anyone.

With a shaky sigh, he nodded slightly and turned his gaze to the table, as he began to speak.

**XXX**

_Neal opened the door cautiously and stepped inside, glancing around as he held his breath. Luck seemed to be with him, this once, because no one appeared to be home. Neal rushed into the house, making a beeline for his bedroom, and letting out a sigh of relief as he shut the door behind him._

_Dropping his school bag on the floor, Neal made his way to his safe place; it wasn't much, or anything really, but that little space that he had cleared in the back of his closet made him feel just a little bit protected. Not that it stopped his father from finding him, but for just a little while, he could pretend._

_A door slam caused him to jump, and he drew his knees to his chest as he covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, praying that just this once, nothing would happen. _

_Another door crashed open, and Neal opened his eyes. That was the door to his bedroom. He waited, holding his breath, trying not to make a sound, but he couldn't hold in the yelp as the closet door smashed open. Another cry of pain escaped him as he was dragged out of his sanctuary, and thrown unceremoniously onto the bed. He looked up fearfully, not moving as his father took a gun out of his waistband and held it up._

_Neal didn't even need to listen, by now he knew the words by heart. "You're going to be a good boy, aren't you?" "You don't want me to have to use this, do you?" "You're going to do what I say, aren't you?"_

_Always the same, and he never disagreed. Not after that one time. He still had the scars from that beating. He hadn't thought it could get worse, but as it turned out, getting hit multiple times with a gun hurt a hell of a lot more than with fists._

_And so he remained limp, not fighting. He hated himself, his father, life, God, for putting him in this position. _

_He remained lifeless, trying not to feel, not to think about it, as the man he hated with every fiber of his being set the gun down, just out of reach, and climbed on top of him. His eyes squeezed shut and his hands clenched tightly, as he attempted not to cry. For the most part, he was successful, apart from the quiet whimpers that escaped, but since he wasn't fighting, it went uncommented upon._

_Eventually, it was over, and he remained stoic, his face buried in his pillow, as his father got up, zipped up his pants, and once more picked up that hated gun. He used it to make loving strokes down Neal's back, starting from his neck, and going all the way down to his legs. With one more "Be a good boy," he exited the room, closing and locking the door behind him._

_And Neal was left alone. He started shaking lightly, as he finally lost the battle and gave in to the tears._

**XXX**

Peter listened in silent horror, unable to tear his eyes away from his informant – his _friend_ – breaking down in front of him. He remembered chasing Neal, searching for information about the conman's life, so that he could find some way to catch the younger man, but the kid's life before eighteen was completely blank. He had never been able to find anything before the former felon had shown up on the FBI's radar.

When he suspected Neal had gotten a better grasp on his emotions, he shifted slightly, making no move to reach out to Neal, no matter how much he wanted to comfort the younger man. "How old were you when it started?" he asked quietly, his voice warm and comforting.

Neal flinched. "Seven," he admitted, trying to ignore Peter's sudden intake of breath. "When I was fourteen, I just couldn't take it anymore. I left. I went to school one day, and then I just never went home."

"Where did you go?"

Neal bit his lip, still unable to meet the FBI agent's worried gaze. "I didn't really have a destination in mind. I headed East, and I met Mozzie somewhere around Chicago, a few months later."

"Where did you start from?" Peter wasn't sure he should keep asking questions, but Neal seemed to be answering, and after so long, he was finally learning about the illusive former felon. He suspected Neal was better answering questions than having to bring it up himself.

Neal smiled slightly, his eyes growing wistful. "Portland," he replied, knowing that Peter had wanted these answers for so long, knowing that he had been unable to find anything before now. He had hidden his past well. "I picked pockets, did odd jobs, and pretty much whatever else I could. I hitchhiked when I couldn't afford a bus or train ticket to the next town. I was afraid to stay in one place too long. I was afraid someone would find me and take me back. Mozzie helped me create a new identity. I just couldn't be Benjamin Cooper anymore."

Peter started. He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table, interlocking them so that he wouldn't be tempted to reach out for his friend. "Your name's not Neal?"

Neal winced and Peter grimaced. This was not the time. The conman shook his head. "No," he admitted. "I didn't want to be Benjamin anymore. I didn't want to have anything to remind me about that life. Mozzie and I created this new identity. A little fudging on the age, and I was a whole new me."

Peter furrowed his brow. "Wait. Does that mean…"

Neal smiled, the corner of his lip lifting up slightly. "My new identity was eighteen, yes. It made things easier."

Peter studied the conman, his mind whirling with thought. If Neal had changed his age, that meant he was, what? Four years younger? He had first shown up on the FBI's radar at nineteen. Over three years, he had been suspected of everything from art forgery to bond forgery, to theft, and everything in between. He had been convicted of bond forgery at twenty-one. But if he had lied about his age… "You were only seventeen."

Neal's smile widened slightly. "Finally caught on, have you?"

Peter shook his head. "You were a minor. That would have changed everything. You could have gotten off with a warning, or just a year in juvie, with your record sealed when you got out."

Neal shrugged. "That would have meant telling people the truth. I didn't want anyone to know."

Peter winced. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." Neal's expression darkened, and Peter hurried to speak, before the conman had a chance to say anything. "It's not pity, don't ever think that. You didn't deserve any of that, and I wish there was something I could do or say to make it better."

The room fell into silence, as Peter waited for Neal to say something.

After a few minutes, the conman finally looked up, and Peter was taken aback by the raw emotion he saw swimming in the younger man's eyes. Pain, fear, sorrow, anger, and underneath it all, hope. It was that last one that really hit the FBI agent, that made him realize that maybe he had done something right, after all.

Neal continued to study his partner for another minute, appearing to look for something. He seemed to find it, because he nodded, just once, and replied in a quiet but resolved tone, "You've already done it." At Peter's questioning look, Neal elaborated, "You didn't have to meet with me that first time, and you didn't have to make that deal. You gave me a chance to start over. I didn't want to be that guy, and you showed me that I didn't have to be. You took a leap of faith, and don't lie, I know there was no trust or confidence involved. But you let me into your life, your family, and that means more to me than you'll ever know."

Peter was stunned into silence. He knew that it really had been a risky chance, making that deal with Neal, but something had convinced him that it might be worth it. He usually said it was Elizabeth, but at the time, there had been some voice in the back of his mind that had made him think about what the convict had been offering him. He had asked himself why a felon would be so eager to work with the feds, but back then, he had just written it off as Neal wanting to get out of jail. Now, he realized that there was more to it than that. His heart ached for what the young man had been through, and he wished that things could have gone differently, though he did feel thankful for getting the chance to meet and become friends with the former conman.

But the last couple of years had proved that he had made the right choice. Sure, they had their ups and downs, but he had learned that Neal would always do the right thing. He knew that Neal respected him, and he couldn't deny that he respected Neal. He had learned a lot about the younger man's character, and there had always been that question of 'why'. Finally, he had an answer. He almost wished he could unlearn it – almost, being the key word. He hated what Neal had had to go through, but he was honored beyond belief that the younger man finally trusted him enough to tell him the truth.

Finally, he pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, and made an effort to meet Neal's worried gaze. He wanted to make sure his friend knew that he understood. "I think I'm starting to learn," he replied quietly.

Nothing else was said, as Neal collected the empty wine glasses, placing them in the sink before returning to the table. For the first time, he actually wished he had a television, so that he could propose an alternative activity. The silence was starting to become awkward.

Thankfully, Peter was already on it. "Elle's cooking tonight. You in?"

Neal smiled and nodded gratefully. "You don't have to ask me twice," he answered, standing up and grabbing his coat.

Peter returned the smile, pushing his own chair back and joining Neal at the door. He walked through, the conman following behind, closing the door behind him as the two men made their way down the stairs, and out of the townhouse with the ten million dollar view.

The dynamic of their relationship had changed that afternoon, and both men knew that it could only get better from here on out. It was no longer based on faith and chance, but real trust, and camaraderie. Neal knew he couldn't ask for a better friend, a better partner.

The past was still out there, the future was unknown, but for tonight, he was just Neal. And with Peter, he knew that that was all he needed to be.

_I have no idea where that came from. I hope you enjoyed it! I love Peter and Neal's relationship, and I love writing about it._

_Please review!_


End file.
